Long Peppy Poems
Long Peppy Poems. Below are the most popular long Peppy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Peppy poems by poem length and keyword.
Ah... how envious, those young, restless, and fecund...
Lucky young guys and gals
admission courtesy yours
truly finds small (medium)
poetaster at large rubicund
perhaps anonymous reader
lollygagging (cyber space)
while away leisure stunned
boot why such shock despite
old & decrepit peppy gunned
no longer doth comb when
god ole temptation beckoned.
Peak procreative years (mine) 4 foo
fighting excellent seamen amidst goo
(albeit sticky) nevertheless, envious
(guess) no matter libido truly extinct
flagellum equipped motile squirming
microscopic male reproductive cell.
Yes... inexplicable to yours truly why
upon waning hours of April seventh I
a run of the Mill (on the Floss) mellow
solitary, ja Democratic trumpeting guy
(donned with predilection to reflect his
nonestablishmentarian 20/ 20 hindsight)
every now and again prompted well nigh
ruminate, notate, incorporate...by and by
to experience fatherhood at least once
again though not a parent I feel gun shy
especially mine eyes seen glory... when
these out of sight myopic left and right
brown (not tubby cornea er anything)
aye shudder to think "camera-type eye"
cannot envision day of reckoning when...
hate making (figurative) spectacle (wry
ming poems impossible mission without
ability to see, but near future visualizes
optimism exaltant mood blind as bat cry
tears of joy (re:) gaining ability to delight
to sit and/or stand watching fresh paint dry
favorite pastime as coronavirus also known
(COVID-19) nifty and groovy innocuous eh
handy handy acronym establishing quite dye
hoe mite reputation when good times run dry
whetting appetite of ginned up entrepreneurs
meanwhile mayhem across globe goes awry
as medical practitioners nsync with scientists
pool their knowledge amidst race against time
aware every bloody seconds spells do or die,
puzzlement prevails felled others squeak by
with razor thin prognostication, not succumb
make miraculous recovery in a blink on the fly
instantaneous become asymptomatic odds defy
punishing fate inducing atheists beckoning sky
beseeching cosmic force allowing, enabling,
+ providing free and easy breathing of alveoli.
It happened long years back,
Today, nor yesterday,
When Time perhaps lost way,
It happened long years back.
My youth when wished to roam,
When seasons smiled ahead,
Once when I lost my head
As I took off from home.
Someone when stopping me,
Helpless and pleading me,
Told me: pray do return,
Don’t go my love, pray turn.
Persuaded to me not to go,
Pray see the circumstances,
Lost sense, I scarce could know,
Nor did my lost senses.
I took of from our home,
Wanderlust just to roam,
But then, sick of the place,
City life’s awful pace,
Thought of her far from me,
Who badly needed me,
And one blessed evening,
I said bye to my odd inning.
Seeing the same old street
I felt mighty happy,
Finding back my heartbeat,
My steps in buoy, peppy…
Someone seeing the awkward,
Said: leave an alien home,
Go back to your fond roam,
Too late now, you’d left this poor bird.
Go back to your loneness
That ye chose to embrace,
Leaving me all alone,
Go back to where had gone.
No one, no more stopped me,
No one persuaded me,
None told me to return,
Nor pleading not to go, nor turn.
It happened long, long back,
Today, nor yesterday,
When time perhaps lost way,
For, it happened long back.
______________________________
Reminiscing |05.05.2023|
Poet’s note: Based on an Urdu piece by Ahmed Faraz
She's too skinny. She's too fat.
He's too white. He's too black.
She's too pretty. She's not hot.
He wears stripes. He likes dots.
She's too peppy. She's too sad.
He's too cheerful. He's too mad.
She's too quiet. She's too loud.
He's too humble. He's to proud.
She's too much a lady. She's not enough.
He's too weak. He's too tough.
She's too lenient. He's too strict.
I can't have a conversation without pitching a fit.
It's too old. It's too new.
I want more than one, but I'll hate having two.
It's too original. It's too much the same.
I don't care if you say it's awesome, I say it's lame.
Too young, too old, too short, too tall,
I have standards to uphold, and you'll conform to them all.
Although we don't see eye to eye,
And our opinions are as different as whole wheat and rye,
I won't unfollow, I won't ignore.
I'll shove my opinions through your front door.
I'll shame you in public and criticize your name.
It's not "just a movie". It's not "just a game".
Your misery is my happiness, unless I get what I want,
And I'll get what I want through threats and insults, hatred and taunts.
You will confirm until we agree.
This is all about me, me, me.
with noticeable burgeoning bosom in the offing, ahoy
this baby faced blubbery bosom beastie boy
fast becoming a bra man,
and might hire himself out
as a male wet nurse for employ
ment, cuz when stark naked on shark tank,
I behold two bopping, brewing, busting
flap jacks in search of a frying pan,
which change in my physiognomy doth annoy
but, suddenly spurring,
this ordinarily calm, cool, and collected chap
positing even a more radical income idea
changing ma name to Chester, letting hooters
get suckled, though,
methinks they qualify as milk duds
tit two siamese twin guys christened ell and roy
offering accompanied with serving of cookies,
where adipose floppy blimps
rank popular as novel cheap toy
where art though washboard stomach,
where brestworks didst sprout
as if overnight a markedly increased
from flat “Joe” six pack chest did an about
face, with squishy, mushy, and doughy
sprang up without doubt
suddenly forcing a sexual identity crisis,
which freaky phenomenon makes me wanna pout
for weird, wicked woebegone
affects the psyche of this lviii aged lout
wondering what other transitions,
this fellow may indeed be on the look out
feigning to traverse (in me mind) badgering
rugged hormonal secretion terrain akin to a girl scout
on the prowl targeting a peeping tom,
whose foolery demands clout,
thus this imposed unfair punishment,
as some half assed irreversible decree
maybe hints of other surprises,
yet tubby revealed, which haint no fallacy
possibly being brewed up by a brood
of bruiting imps of the pervert with glee
some bot sized microscopic
anti bosom buddy hood stolen the genetic key
analogous to a pesky malware,
virus, trojan horse secrete lee
scheming to transform the sexual identity of me
perhaps waking up tomorrow minus
my little peppy ***** , and behold a pussy
should such an outcome prevail,
where media papparazzi
stake out this freak of nature re:
doubling efforts erecting fortifications
in a big old sassy tree,
especially if the press
(i.e. particularly meaning Wikileaks)
discovers ability to experience infinite orgasms
converting sexual predilection into electric utility.
A cupola shin, prickly dick creed, hoary
testes tossed, master baiting ova all eel trades
crossed the fecund Rubicon and ejaculated
olly olly oxen yawping, in utero seminal raids
with phallic coup d’etat that buck came vasocongested spades
lit torch, where hello kitty Ernst lee screeched
amidst Grafenberg tit parades
bumping uglies during four nuke key eight ting game
where pinkish puckered two lips viz biological
Russian roulette played – birth control relegated as desuetude
hotly contested fee conned, caved heat seminal blitzkrieg overlaid
bilging swamped,
whence olds eye goat ruff fused exiting nightshade
shy ham mull in, and gave way to blast ta cyst
vis a visa viz biological fertilization qua two plump milkmaids
from inchoate seeds juiced beginning
to compress bladder re: lemonades
per diem mother via umbilical cord fueling gestation,
where sonogram shows faint genetic threnody skein
perchance manifold jades
nope – no fallacy when peppy thrust with sucks esse full feint
after thwarting objection against skin flute charmed thence invades
which begot conception from chromosomal traits stitched
via jean S, and her faction of trumpeting handmaids
whose fecund ditty began to feel swell as biological reproduction
showed no uterine back grades
as Tabula rasa In utero endured fusillades per what mother tubby ingested
sustenance promulgated noticeable womb dar full expansion fusillades
of nutriments ordaining future health of progeny
riddling endless questions within the gallimaufry
discombobulated mental, physical fatigue enfilades
and spiritual state of momma me ya in tha family way, whereby baby blueprint an outcome as nano sized atomic bombshells scoured decades
to determine the ontological makeup from when the fluid dynamics
spelling impregnation since time immemorial and into the future cascades
artfully concatenating eminent grise immaculate kindred laminated with waxy substance i.e. vernix, though smooth
doth serve analogous to microscopic switch-blades.
Form:
Where do all the Pooh sticks go, you lovingly selected,
dropped in the water, on their way? Then ran across the bridge
to witness how they fared, alone, without your guiding hand.
All now slither, out of sight, eager in the rippling stream;
dashing, tumbling, burbling to experiences; wondrous and new.
Wonderlust will end too soon for some; a moss-grown boulder,
old, cantankerous, will add some budding sticks to others
whose passage it has stalled among the rotting vegetation.
Others careen carefree past, carried aimless by the stream,
just going with the flow, attracting others in their wake.
A peppy school of sticks along with twigs and leaves, some trash,
washing wastefully along wherever water takes them.
Some will find their place; a home for butterfly, bug, or toad,
adding to a beaver's dam or a poke-stick for a child.
A purpose ascertained; a voyage happily at close.
Sticks don't always have a choice; it's where the river takes them.
But hopefully, a few will reach the sea; their journey's end,
and wash up happily, retired, on sun-soaked Spanish shores.
This tale of my greatest performance
many may think insufficient and small.
I learned a lesson: Don't give in to chance;
if you want something, give it your all!
This tale occurred way back in seventh grade,
when everything is either do or die.
I led cheers in sixth at another school,
and was one of those chosen to now try.
The jury was the high school Varsity.
The competition: lovely Jannance,
who won EVERYTHING so easily
we other three stood barely a chance.
I would act like a cheerleader should be:
peppy, happy, and be sure to yell loud.
Jannance went first and softly spoke the cheer
She wouldn't be heard above any crowd.
Well, I cheered like there were no tomorrows,
and, later that day, I learned I had won.
A lesson I've kept through smiles and sorrows:
We can leap hurdles in life's distance run!
May 12, 2022
The Greatest Performance of my Life Poetry Contest
by JCB Brul
A First Place
She is sparkling, scintillating, lusty, vigorous, peppy.
He was interested at lusty, but pretended indifference.
Zingy, zippy, vivacious, animated, high-spirited.
Okay, I’ll do it, he told his sister, acting reluctant.
She had set him up with dates before. They never worked out.
He arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early.
Still, she beat them there. She was pretty, and lively. Fun.
He laughed at her stories, and she listened to his.
She told him great things about his sister, and he shared too.
She was everything his sister said, truly effervescent.
But her drink was too carbonated, which made her gassy.
She was horribly embarrassed when overcome by the
Bubbly, frothy, foaming, bubbly stuff. He liked her for that too.
Only when yours truly busies himself...
Feigning to emulate NON GMO
garden variety English major oh just so
ho-hum, this ousted son and cingular bro
biological byproduct of papa's yoyo
after mama taut Peppy how to grow
big and become vein, her issuing blow
by blow stroke, thence pecker
imitated fountainhead
unleashing at apropos
time outburst analogous when an arrow
loosed from archer's bow
shooting off about hip height mo'
than bajillion microscopic
one celled lil longfellow
(Oh Henry...! wad art thou doing?)
just hmm... giving mutual sin O
Job whelp... subsequently
little squirt begot
sole son this all because sticky clot
hit bullseye right on the dot
nope, no where near size of ergot
spore, yet radiating
burning temperature more hot than...,
liquified gold prior
bitta bing bitta bang forged into ingot,
now just little more about fertilized
ova, I wanna jot
potential pluperfect parasite (me)
acquired, cultivated, fashioned...
one after another deft bon mot
while in utero until umbilical cord
severed than christened newborn tot.
Now fast forward blaw blaw blaw
when I began to clamor and claw
nope, cuz I ne'er learned how to draw,
the least significant genetic flaw,
cue laugh track and prerecorded guffaw
similar to popular nineteen
seventies television hee haw
laughter muted upon meeting
battle axe mother in law
another story... genre mccaw braw,
she excelled spewing vitriol out her maw,
thence I slowly must heard,
mixed metaphors and mastered...pshaw
modesty keeps me from bragging
yea - boot as a non sequitur
non secretor, yukon call me
the word wrangler outlaw
lo never cussing out anybody,
I can more easily whip out pistol
if captive audience
critiques mein arcane saw
jeering (matt speak feeble attempt
at wordplay - i.e. soldiering)
receiving affirmative nod
courtesy none other
than quick draw mcgraw
now ye butter listen (er... read) up
and don't blather and beast not shtupp
to conquer, when ya hear bit ching pup
that maybe be yipping faux ruse
to empty pocket inner empty cup.
It's hard to be Harry's Mommy
He is like a raving Tsunami.
"Why didn't you do the homework Harry?"
"The letters were gulped by the papers, Mommy".
"Why is the bedsheet so messy, Harry?"
"It wanted to dance like me, Mommy"
Should I scold Harry for the lie
Or pat on the back of my tale-teller boy?
"Why didn't you finish the lunch, Harry?"
"Madam butterfly said she'd join me but missed, Mommy"
"Why did you hit Tom in the class, Harry?
"Was trying to wake him up from sleep, Mommy".
Should I scold Harry for the lie
Or pat on the back of this quirky boy?
"Teacher complained you're so naughty, Harry"
"She kissed and said I'm just like her son, Mommy"
"Where's all cheese in the fridge, Harry?'
"Photographer said cheese and I gave it all to him, Mommy"
Should I scold Harry for the lie
Or pat on the back of this quick-witty boy?
"Why is your shirt so dusty, Harry?"
"The garden soil was feeling lonely, Mommy"
"Why did you remove the car's mirror, Harry?"
"Doggy Donald wanted to see his beauty, Mommy"
Should I scold Harry for the lie
Or pat on the back of this waggish boy?
But Harry is a peppy and kind brainbox
He's so brave that he cares no blocks
I'm so glad to be his mommy
Will slowly explain what is fun and what is stormy.